by Celia Loren
She rushes in, dumping her suitcase. She hugs Stick quickly and then leans over my bed, gently touching me as if to make sure I’m still alive. She buries her face in my neck and I hear her begin to cry. And the comfort of having my mom with me and the trauma I’ve just been through rushes over me, and I dissolve in tears with her. I hear Stick and West quietly leave the room to us.
Eventually, my mom calms down enough to call in the nurse for an update, and to give me more morphine. Then she sits in the chair next to my bed, softly stroking my hand as she tells me about how she’s rearranged the furniture in her boyfriend’s house, and now it looks much more homey, and how...the combination of her voice and the morphine relaxes me, and soon I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Olive
These last two days in the hospital have felt like forever. I wish I could say I were going home, but I’m not.
“Home insurance will cover most of it,” Stick tells me as I sit on the edge of my bed. “And then we can split the money.” I flick my eyes toward him. “No arguments,” he adds sternly.
“Sheesh,” I say jokingly. Though the nest egg will be nice. And he is being incredibly generous. “Thanks. Really.”
“And in the meantime, you can stay with us at Stacy’s. She’s got the extra room in her apartment all set up for you.”
“Where’s West staying?” I ask before thinking. He shoots me a look. “I didn’t mean...I was just curious! I swear!” He looks out into the courtyard, and I can’t read his expression. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. It was wrong of us to go sneaking around behind your back like that. But I’m a grown-up. You can’t keep trying to protect me from everything.”
“But that’s the problem! I’m not doing good enough!” he bursts out, surprising me. “I mean, just look at what happened to you.”
I sigh, and gently touch the tips of my fingers to my jaw. It’s still swollen, and talking too much hurts it.
“Stick, the issue wasn’t you not being protective enough. The issue was a psycho named Richard Lees. I mean, what are you going to do? Start following me around everywhere? That’s what he did—and look how that turned out!”
He reels back at the implied comparison. I steady myself for his angry response when I see his eyes dart over my shoulder to the doorway.
“Franchise,” he says, surprised. I turn around and grin at the grumpy bastard.
“Stick, Olive,” he says nodding. “Ratchet asked me to come by and see if you all would be up for a little fundraiser at the clubhouse tomorrow. Nothing big, just the brothers and their families. I know all of this must have been expensive,” he adds, waving his hand around to indicate the hospital stay.
“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.
“You think you’ll be up for it?” he interrupts me. I can see he’s not taking no for an answer.
“Sure,” I say with a smile.
“And take your time coming back to work, alright?” he goes on.
Shit. the Black Rock. I almost forgot that he was about to fire me before all this happened. Great.
“Yeah, sure...” I say slowly.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually...” he says, looking at the floor.
Oh, no. Please not now.
“I’m opening up a new place, more high-end, cocktail type place, thought you might be the right person to manage it,” he says.
“What? I thought you were going to fire me!” I blurt out.
“Why would you think that?” he asks, frowning.
“Because you took me off the schedule, so I thought—”
“Oh, I was planning on transitioning you over to the new spot. Still needs a name, by the way. Think about it.” And with another nod and a wave toward Stick, he leaves just as abruptly as he arrived.
I turn in shock to Stick, who looks equally as surprised.
“Holy shit,” I finally say. “Manager of a cocktail bar? Maybe I’ll get to shape the menu, help with hiring—”
“Wow,” Stick replies, running his hand through his hair, but he’s frowning.
“What?”
“Um, no, it’s just...maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t give you enough credit.”
I smile at him, and he shakes his head, frustrated.
“Come on,” he says finally, “Let’s get you checked out. You have to come with me to drop Mom off at the airport because she keeps asking me about the wedding.”
“Deal,” I smile.
Later that night, after we’ve seen Mom off, I’m eating dinner with Stick and Stacy at her apartment. It’s not quite home, but it does feel good to have a home-cooked meal with them. Stick actually does most of the cooking, since he’s feeling better than both Stacy and me.
I watch Stacy carefully. She’s a little quiet, but she seems resilient. And she and Stick are tenderer than ever with each other. Maybe the thought of being without each other has brought them closer together. Stick waves us away when we try to help with the dishes, so we head into her bedroom. She has an extra nightgown she’s letting me borrow.
At first I didn’t think of all the little things we lost in the fire, but they have added up. My mom has some family photos and things, but there were still a lot in the house. My brother offered to drive me by to see where it stood, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. I sit on the bed as Stacy opens her bureau. The smoke inhalation has been making her short of breath, so she’s moving slowly.
“Have you talked to West?” she asks, her voice still a little raspy from the breathing tube she had to have in at the hospital.
“Just a little at the hospital. My mom was there most of the time...Why?”
“Did you know that he was the one who found you?” she asks softly.
“When the police interviewed me at the hospital, they said he was the one who brought me in, but I don’t remember it,” I tell her.
“He organized the search for Lees, stayed out until he found him, and then chased him down and got the information somehow,” Stacy says.
“Well, that’s how the Widowmakers work, right?” I shrug, “I mean, if you mess with one of the brothers...”
“Maybe,” says Stacy with a smile, handing me her nightgown. “He’ll be at the party tomorrow, you know. He’s staying at the clubhouse for a while.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, noncommittally.
“What, you’re suddenly over him or something?” she asks.
“No,” I admit. “It’s just...it seems like he wants some distance. Maybe doesn’t see me the same way anymore...”
“Olive!” Stacy says, exasperated. “Look, maybe you should talk to him.”
“I just don’t want to be one of those girls that doesn’t get the picture, you know?” I say, “I mean, sometimes when I overhear women talking about men who aren’t texting them back or calling or whatever, I want to scream, ‘he’s just not into you!’” I explain.
Stacy stifles a giggle, which quickly turns into a cough. I ease her into a sitting position on the bed and rub her back until it ceases.
“You, OK?” I ask worriedly. She nods, her eyes watering a little.
“Just make sure you’re not going too far in the opposite direction, is all I’m saying,” she’s finally able to say.
“I’m so sorry you got caught up in this whole mess,” I whisper to her.
“You and Stick can’t stop apologizing to me. Just quit it, OK?” she says with a smile. “Now, why don’t you look through my closet and find something to wear to the party tomorrow.”
The next day, I’m wearing a light sundress of Stacy’s. She’s more petite than me, but this dress is a little big for her, and it was easy to pull on with a cast on my left wrist. Shirts and pants are much more of a struggle.
Stick drives us over to the clubhouse in the Tahoe. The afternoon sun feels good on my face as I lean out of the open window in the back seat. As we approach the clubhouse, I can hear music playing. I see people spilling out of the front a
nd around the sides of the entrance. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but the “little fundraiser” appears to be every brother and their families all packed into the clubhouse.
“Shit,” Stick says, parking on the street. “Looks like some of the other charters decided to stick around for the party.”
I adjust the straps of the dress as we get out of the car and walk through the gate. We’re greeted with cheers and I blush self-consciously. We’re quickly shepherded around the back and into the yard. It looks like they’ve got a sort of yard sale going, with items spread out on tables, and they’re raffling off some services, too. I can’t believe the Widowmakers put all this together.
I’m surrounded by brothers I’ve met at the Black Rock and their old ladies. They all express outrage at what happened and offer me food and drinks. I’m still not allowed to have the beer and alcohol because of the painkillers, but I munch a little on a hot dog. My full appetite definitely still hasn’t returned.
I look around, the music and sunlight drifting over me. The persistent coldness clinging to my bones for the last few days feels like it’s finally leaving me, thawed by the warmth of the people surrounding me. I feel a hand on the small of my back and know even before I turn that it’s West. I smile up at him and feel heat rush through me as we lock eyes. He’s looking casually hot in his grey t-shirt and cut.
“Hey, I have something for you. It’s in my room,” he murmurs, with a nod at the clubhouse behind us.
“Oh, OK,” I reply, and follow him as he weaves his way through the crowd and into the back hallway. I have no clue what his surprise could be.
We pass by a couple people who smile at me, and West opens a door on the right. He gestures me inside and shuts the door behind us. I look around at the small, sparse room, and then turn to him. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since I woke up in the hospital, and I couldn’t talk then. And now I don’t know what to say.
“Here,” he says, opening up the closet and picking something up off the floor. As he turns toward me, I realize it’s my purse.
“Oh my god,” I murmur. “How’d you find it?” It’s both shocking and comforting to see it. A reminder of what happened, but also a relief to have my license and cards back again, and simply a possession that didn’t burn up.
“I just got it from the brothers who took care of the car. They weren’t sure what to do with it,” he explains.
“When the police interviewed me at the hospital, there wasn’t much I could tell them. They said you heard me call for help from the house and came in to find me, and Lees wasn’t there. They’re still looking for him.”
“There’s nothing to tie the Widowmakers to it, I promise you. It’ll be easier for you if I don’t tell you more about it,” he says, running his hand through his hair.
“I have nightmares...” I whisper.
“Oh, Olive,” he says and walks toward me slowly. He wraps his arms around me, and I relax against his chest.
“Do you ever?” I murmur.
“Have nightmares? Not about him. Sometimes about things I saw when I was stationed in Kandahar, but war is messy, complicated. What needed to happen to Lees was not,” he says, leaning back so he can look me in the eyes. “I’ll at least tell you...I only did to him what I had to, and nothing more, OK?”
I nod up at him. “Thank you.”
“I was worried about you, you know,” he says, stepping back from me and crossing his arms with a little smile.
“Were you?” I ask.
“Of course,” he replies, with a little frown.
“I just...I know you had to find him for what he did to Stick and Stacy, too. And, also...I know things have been off between us,” I blurt out. “I don’t want, I mean, I’m not looking for an apology, or explanation, if that’s what you think. Obviously, if anyone here owes the other—you rescued me, you actually saved my life!”
Yikes. I am making a mess of this conversation. West is just staring at me. Shit.
“Olive,” he finally begins, “I was confused, frustrated...”
“And now?” I ask nervously.
“I felt crazy when you were missing. I mean, that’s what I’ve been avoiding. That feeling...or, I don’t know, giving someone else the ability to make me feel like that, that loss, and powerlessness.”
In this moment, I remember West as a kid. What he looked like when he would sit at our kitchen table in our old house when his mother was too high to make him dinner. The guarded look he wore as a teenager, as though every other person in the world was a ticking time bomb about to go off at any second and destroy him.
“But I got through it,” he goes on, “And I balanced it against the feeling I had when we were together...” he trails off, his arms extended helplessly. “And it was worth it, I think.”
A smile breaks across my face. I cross the few feet between us and stand on my tiptoes, resting my hands on his chest. I lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips. I’d like to do more, but my face is still too tender.
“So, you want to go out sometime?” he asks with a grin.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” I giggle.
“Are you saying no?”
“Ugh, well, I’m just so busy...I’m opening up this new bar with Franchise, if you hadn’t heard,” I say jokingly.
“I did hear something about that, congratulations” he replies, his eyes twinkling.
“But I guess I can squeeze you in.”
He narrows his eyes at me and leans down to kiss my lips, then at the last second, breaks away and moves to my neck. He gently kisses me along the throat. I gasp and close my eyes, immediately lost to his touch.
“OK, we better get back outside,” he says abruptly, standing back up and opening the door.
“Hey, no fair!” I protest, laughing.
“Tiny, you are in no condition for what I want to do to you right now,” he says with a grin.
“Don’t call me Tiny!” I protest, a smile spreading across my face.
“You’ve got to take it easy for a while, Tiny. I need you back up to full strength for what I’ve got planned for us,” he says, the promising glint in his eye sending a thrill through me.
“Can’t wait,” I whisper, and softly kiss him again.
He smiles down at me, then takes my good hand and leads me back down the hallway. The sunlight shines around the cracks of the doorframe, beckoning us outside. We make our way across the yard together, surrounded by dozens of grinning faces. I feel West’s fingers lace with mine as we stop and talk to brothers and old ladies. It almost feels like...we’re a couple. For real.
I look up at West in the gathering twilight. His handsome features are arranged in an expression of happiness and peace. His very body seems more at ease. Is it because Richard Lees is no longer a threat? Is it because I’m back beside him at last? I squeeze his fingers in mine, resting my head against his broad shoulder. He leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my hair. That simple, sweet gesture means as much to me as anything we’ve shared.
Stick and Stacy find us in the crowd, and the four of us become the epicenter of the party. It’s an unconventional arrangement, our little family, but I feel more at home than I ever have. And I know that it’s thanks, in no small part, to the Widowmakers, and their way of life. I eye Stacy’s old lady cut, thinking something that that would look pretty damn good on me.
But all of that can wait. Tonight, it’s enough to have West by my side, knowing that we’re truly together at last.
THE END
About the Author
Celia Loren is an author of gritty Contemporary Romance. She’s always been an avid reader and growing up she devoured books by the truckload. Now she spends her time working toward finishing her MFA and penning the romance stories she always wanted to read. Excited to be a member of the Hearts Collective Publishing team, she brings her incredible imagination, unparalleled work ethic, and sassy personality into the mix!
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nnect with Celia Loren and other Hearts Collective authors online at
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OTHER BOOKS BY CELIA LOREN:
Satan’s Property (A Satan’s Sons MC Novel) by Celia Loren
Crushing Beauty (Harbingers of Sorrow MC) by Celia Loren
Breaking Beauty (Devils Aces MC) by Celia Loren
Wrecking Beauty (Devils Reapers MC) by Celia Loren
If you enjoyed Celia Loren’s Satan’s Property (A Satan’s Sons MC Novel)
Then you'll also enjoy reading Impossibly (A Dante’s Nine MC Novel) by Colleen Masters.
Read below for an excerpt!!
Prologue
My surroundings come into focus at last. I realize that I am floating—but not through space. Warm water, scented with lavender and sage, suspends my naked body, comforting me. It laps against my skin, caressing every curve and limb of me. At first, I think I must be treading water in some hot spring, or sunbaked ocean—the body of water is that vast. But as the rest of the scene comes into focus, I find that I’m not in a sea at all. I’m in a marble and golden bathtub, sunken into the floor of some elegant, unknown room. I gaze up and see that the ceiling is made of curved glass, and the moon shines down from above. The moon, and some other very vibrant lights...perhaps of the neon variety?
“What are you doing all the way over there?” asks a rich, rasping voice.
I look around sharply, sending little splashes of water everywhere as I try to cover my naked breasts. Warm, amused laughter rings out from the far side of the enormous tub. I peer through the steamy air and see that I’m not alone in this place. There, across the way, glow two piercing blue eyes. Heart battering against my ribs, I inch closer. Up out of the mist rises a broad, cut torso, covered in inky lines. Two thick, muscled arms drape over the edge of the tub. A face unlike any other, itself like something carved out of marble, watches me approach. And a full, irresistible smile bursts open there as I approach.